


Because I Got High

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, New York Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prusty and Boyle smoke up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I Got High

Brian's really bad at Mario Kart when he's been smoking up. He dies for the second time in way too short a time and throws the controller on the ground with a groan, collapsing back onto Brandon's couch dramatically.

“S'not fair, man. You know I suck when I'm high.”

Brandon's sitting on the floor with his back against the couch next to Brian's legs. He starts snickering, still playing. “-Yeah-, you do.”

Brian cuffs the back of his head once before Brandon's laughter catches him up, contagious, and he's gone. 

He stretches out, long legs out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. He reaches over to the end-table for the pipe and lights up. 

Brandon's giggles die down a little as Brian takes his turn with the pipe. When Brian looks over, Brandon's staring at him with glassy, amused eyes. The game is paused, and Brandon's setting down his controller next to him.

“Hey. Hey. Boyler.”

Brian smiles down at him a little. He looks so fucking earnest, scratching at his beard with one hand and tilting his head up at Brian.

“We should fuck.”

Brian coughs a little on his next hit. “What?”

“Or I could just blow you.” Brandon's breathing a little fast; Brian focuses compulsively on the rapid rise and fall of his chest instead of meeting his eyes. Brandon laughs a little. “Come on, man, I've had a stoner boner for the last fifteen minutes.”

Brian's not sure if he's a lot more high than he thought or if he's just slow, but either way, Brandon manages to insinuate himself between Brian's thighs without Brian knowing how he got there. He definitely doesn't -remember- spreading his legs to let Brandon kneel on the floor between them.

Brandon puts his hands on Brian's thighs, tentative, and when Brian doesn't stop him, he runs them up and down the long muscles, fingers digging in every so often. If it's supposed to be soothing, it's not. Brian's a little hard just from the suggestion of sex, and this really doesn't help. 

“Boyler. Hey, talk to me, what d'you want?” 

Like that's not a question best left for when they're both sober. But Brandon's looking up at him, steady and warm and familiar, and the haze in Brian's head hushes any protest he might come up with. He laughs a little, watches Brandon's lips part, and says, “Whatever you want, man. I'm, uh. I'm good for it.”

Brandon fucking lights up, eyes crinkling in a grin. “-Awesome-.” 

His hands are nimble like Brian's never are when he's high or drunk, and Brian's head thunks into the backrest of the couch when Brandon runs both thumbs over Brian's dick through his sweatpants. “Jesus. You're kinda fucking big, dude.”

Brian blinks up at the ceiling and huffs out a breath. “No shit. Proportional.” He's only half-listening, and tries not to think about how hard he's getting, how fast. It's pretty difficult.

Brandon laughs, and holy shit, Brian can feel it -on his dick-. He brings his head back up with an effort, and Brandon's pushed up so close to Brian's dick he's breathing on it every breath. He's still just running his fingers over and around it, thumbs dragging around the head and pushing the soft fabric of Brian's sweatpants over it again and again like it's fascinating. 

It's probably rude, but Brian palms the back of Brandon's head to get his attention. “You planning on blowing me or just being a tease?”

Brandon starts to smirk, shit-eating and delighted like he is whenever he gets a rise out of Brian, and Brian tightens his grip. 

The smirk drops off his face; Brandon's eyes flutter as his mouth goes slack. “Aw, that's it,” he purrs, sounding stupid around his lisp. He strains a little out of Brian's hold, making Brian tug at his short hair to put him back in place. “Knew you'd do it right.”

Something about that seems more telling than Brian can put his finger on, but he ignores it in favor of staring down at Brandon, bemused. “Fucking right.” 

Brandon says something about not getting too cocky, but it's lost in a nonsensical mumble against Brian's thigh. He licks the spread of cotton across Brian's dick once, a long, wet stripe that makes Brian jerk, before scrabbling at the ties. He fights the loose knot for a second before he gets them down, then scoots back for a moment to let Brian kick them off. 

The room spins when he fits his mouth, finally, over the tip of Brian's cock. Brian shuts his eyes hard, letting his head drop almost painfully against the back of Brandon's couch. “Pruster...”

Brandon just hums in answer. Licks another stripe up the length, mouths carefully along the crown like he's getting his bearings, then goes down halfway. His hand joins his mouth after a bit, wrapping around Brian with the perfect amount of pressure, and Brian can't help snapping his hips up to meet it. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, belatedly, patting blindly at Brandon's head. 

Brandon's eyes are watering, but other than that he doesn't even pull off. He sucks hard and takes Brian in further than he has any right to know how to do. He bobs, cheeks hollowing. Brian scrapes the tips of his fingers down the stubble where they cave in, then down Brandon's jaw, and Brandon moans. He's hard, obvious in his own flimsy sweats.

That makes its way into Brian's head, ping-ponging around his skull how Prusty's so fucking hard just from having Brian's cock in his mouth, and it abruptly ratchets everything up to eleven. Brandon's making sounds around Brian's dick, the normal obscene wet sounds as well as tiny grunts whenever he goes down too far and the head bumps the back of his throat, and his hips are nudging up because he's hard, Brandon's trying to fuck the air because apparently sucking Brian's cock gets him -just that worked up-.

Brian swears, beyond worked up himself here, fingers convulsively tightening again in Brandon's hair. He's only wearing a thin t-shirt anymore, but suddenly it's still too hot, everything feeling overheated and close. 

The first time he tries to speak, his voice is gravel, too dry, and he has to cough. “Prusty.”

Brandon looks up at him, lips wide and perfect around his cock, and Brian forgets what he was going to say. He stares down helplessly, pushes his thumb into the corner of Brandon's mouth. 

He's saying, "I wanna fuck you," before he can think better of it.

Brandon's eyes go wide and he swallows convulsively around Brian's cock before pulling off. 

"I mean, if you want-" Brian tries to cover, struggling to sit up. 

"Hell yes," Brandon breathes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then...slipping away from Brian to rummage in the couch cushions. 

"Uh..." Brian feels a little stupid, still having to blink hard against the feeling of his lingering high. 

Brandon's slinking back, grinning at him glassy-eyed before sliding into his lap and holding up a container of lube and a packet of condoms. "Ta-daah."

Brian plants his hands on Brandon's hips and tugs, hauls him over onto his back on the couch next to Brian. He pins him in, arms resting on the top of the couch. "Why d'you have lube in your couch."

Brandon's sinks down, spreads his legs, and his smirk is slow and smug. "Girlfriend's a girl scout. She likes to be prepared."

That's actually...Brian doesn't particularly want to think about that right now. He does pause, though. He likes Maripier, she's good for Brandon, and that reality bothers at the edges of his conscience. 

"Aw, you don't want me cheating?" Brandon's still grinning, and then he's skimming out of his shirt. He raises his hand to chuck it in a loose fist against Brian's jaw. 

Brian bats him away, irritable both at the condescension and at the thought of stopping this -now-, with Brandon sprawled out underneath him, flushed and playful and eager for it. 

"Hey. You're an exception, okay?" Brandon looks marginally more serious now, and he raises an eyebrow back when Brian does. "What, you don't have exceptions lists with your girlfriends?"

Brian gives him a look, and Brandon shrugs. "She's okay with it." He drops eye contact to run his hand across the hem of Brian's t-shirt, slides it up hotly against the skin of his stomach. "Are you okay with it?"

It still seems weird, but it's not like Brian has to think it over particularly hard. "Get up."

Brandon's grin falls away, and he stands up reluctantly. 

It looks like he's about to say something deflecting, something to get them both off the hook so they can go back to a normal, pre-boners time. He opens his mouth, and Brian grabs him, manhandling him around until he's facing away from Brian - bent over at the hips with his head resting on the back of the couch. He gasps into the leather, turning his face to one side. 

"Holy- jesus, Brian."

Brian lets himself smirk a little, one big hand pinning Brandon in place face-down at the nape of his neck and one holding his hips. "Can't leave you hanging, man." He starts working on the ties to Brandon's sweats. "That's not buddies."

Brandon laughs breathlessly. "You're such a good buddy." He groans, muffled into the couch as Brian swipes his thumb over the head of his dick, gives it a nice, tight pull. "Such a good -buddy-, oh my god. Get the-." He flaps an awkward hand at the lube and condom, and Brian picks it up. 

He takes his time with it, getting obsessed with the way Brandon squirms around two fingers in his ass and the way he whines for three, then mumbles filth about how thick Brian's fingers feel. 

It takes Brandon reaching back and punching Brian in the thigh to get him to actually put the condom on, line himself up. 

"Fuuuuck." Brandon's panting into the leather of his couch as Brian presses in. He pounds his fist against the top when Brian's in all the way. "Fuck."

Brian's head feels too heavy for his neck. He can't keep it from lolling against his chest, and he curls down over Brandon a little. "Still okay?"

He's close enough that when Brandon turns his head and snarls, it's just a few inches away. "Fucking move, Boyler!" He tries to shake like a dog out of Brian's grasp and Brian tightens it automatically. "Maripier's strap-on is bigger than you, stop checking in on me."

It startles a laugh out of Brian, and he draws out, fucks back in smoothly. "That's not true."

"Ahh, fuck. Is too." 

Brian digs his fingers in hard against Brandon's hip, watching the smooth skin indent red underneath the tips. He straightens up and fucks Brandon hard, dragging Brandon against his cock again and again. It punches sounds out of Brandon Brian kind of wants to record on his phone and listen to when he's alone. Brandon's face is open and pleased, eyes screwed shut as every thrust rocks him forward. 

He says something, mouth moving and his voice coming out bare bones. 

Brian leans down and pushes his sweaty face into the join of Brandon's shoulder and neck. "Say again?" he mumbles, fucks him deep and grinds in. 

Brandon's groan is sincere and heartfelt, and he reaches back to tangle one hand in Brian's hair. "Said, Mari'd told me it'd be good."

Brian bites down on the nearest skin - the tough meat of Brandon's shoulder. He can't really thrust properly from here, but he fucks in in tiny, shallow drives, and Brandon swallows convulsively. "She jerked me off this one time. Talked about you."

Brian grits his teeth in harder, an extra rush of heat clammoring furiously under his skin at that. "Jesus." He nips at the bite mark again, tasting the salt behind his teeth. 

He has to pull back and fuck him again, and Brandon groans, voice hoarse. "Wrapped her little hand around me in the middle of Die Hard and told me how good it'd feel to get plowed by Brian Boyle." The smooth line of his back flexes when he laughs, strained and gasping. "I got off...so fucking hard, man."

Brian lets his grip on Brandon's neck go to haul his ass back against himself with both hands. Brandon braces himself against the couch. "C'mon. C'mon, Boyler, do it."

Brandon's going to have bruises for days, Brian can see them already forming, dark red in the shape of Brian's fingers. He jerks Brandon back against his cock, digging his fingernails down Brandon's sides in stripes. 

That makes Brandon thrash, and he's shouting into a mouthful of the couch cushions before Brian even realizes what's happening, coming half in his hand and dribbling down against the leather. 

Brian's usually more considerate when he's fucking someone that just came, but he feels like he's been about two seconds from orgasm, himself, for the past ten minutes. He palms Brandon's trembling stomach and drags him back against his cock, working himself in as deep as he can before opening his mouth against the bite on Brandon's neck and shooting off in the condom.

Neither of them move for a second, then Brandon groans. "Fuck, I jizzed on the couch."

Brian huffs into his neck, then extracts himself, wincing as he pulls free and ties off the condom. He drops it on the coffeetable, grabs a handful of tissues, and collapses back on the couch, in a safely jizz-free zone.

"C'mere."

Brandon sighs, flings himself down bonelessly next to Brian, and Brian reaches over, dabs the smears of come off Brandon's dick and stomach, off the couch. He offers the dirty wad for Brandon to wipe his hand off on. 

"Got my back," Brandon mumbles. His head tips back against the couch, breath going slow and even. After a while, he rolls his head sideways to look at Brian. "Still got the pipe?"


End file.
